A Walk in Imladris
by Minuialeth
Summary: At the eve of the Council of Elrond, Legolas reflects on his life


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A Walk in Imladris

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Rating: G

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Disclaimer: Sadly, I own nothing from Mr Tolkien's wonderful world. I'm not making money with this story either.

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Note: This is not my first attempt at fanfiction, but this my first time at writing a story in Tolkien's universe. I've tried to harmoniously mix the book and the movie versions in this.

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He walked a littler faster until the noises and voices coming from the Hall of Fire faded to a vague whispering, even for his keen Elven hearing.

Legolas understood why Elrond Peredhil had insisted on a small feast to welcome the representatives of the races of Middle-Earth, as well as to celebrate the Perian's remission, but he was not in the mood to listen to tales and songs that night. He also had to admit to himself that the numerous Dwarves present in the Hall had also been the reason of his departure. They were rowdy and their personal hygiene and table manners left a lot to be desired. Of course they were one of the races of Middle-Earth, so they had to be invited and could hardly be avoided.

The air was crisp but not to the point of being chilly, and the varied scents of autumn wafted around him as he moved along the small path he had taken. He took a deep whiff, allowing the aromas to fill his lungs: decaying leaves…moss…moist earth, and something else he did not recognise that seemed to be unique to Imladris.

But Legolas' heart was heavy, making it difficult for him to fully take in the beauty of the Elven city as he had upon his arrival that morning.

He had quickly realised how much Mirkwood – as Men called his home – was different from the main two Elven realms in Arda. Now that he had seen it, the Last Homely House was probably the most beautiful of all, for there was a peace in the air that was almost more present than in Lórien. Imladris was a place of healing, arts, lore and Elven culture. Mirkwood was a realm of caves where the struggle for survival had been permanent for centuries, slowly making the silvan Elves there different from their kin. They were now much more like warriors than cultivated beings.

A part of him resented that. But resented what, exactly? The fact of being born in Eryn Galen instead of here? Legolas shook his head slightly, lost in his thoughts, and he absentmindedly fingered a leaf on a bush as he passed it.

He entered a small beautifully laid-out garden, punctuated with graceful marble statues and enchanting fountains. Unconsciously, he strolled around for long minutes, lightly touching each sculpture, as if to assure himself that they were real. Whomever had carved them was a tremendously talented artist, and Legolas idly wondered if he had talked to or just passed him or her since his arrival. Perhaps he would ask Lord Elrond their identity...

Not such delicate things could be seen in Mirkwood's caves, unfortunately. Their incessant fight left them with little time to indulge in artistic occupations, apart from creating and forging knives and swords and making arrows, bows, and quivers. The thought made him miss the weight of his own weapons, left in his room. It was one of the first times since his coming of age that he had wandered alone without them, and the realisation struck him as an odd but not unpleasant feeling.

Legolas left the garden, promising himself to go back there later to contemplate it in the light of day. For now he took another path, this one even smaller and seemingly more secretive, and the increasing solitude gave him a chance to reflect on things still troubling him…

A part of him was still surprised that King Thranduil, his father, had decided to send his unique son to be the voice of Eryn Galen at Imladris, less than four months after the attack of their realm.

Legolas had first refused, suggesting that someone else could go. He had not wanted to leave his home now that the darkness from Dol Guldur was ever increasing and spreading, making them wonder if their magic caves would continue as a sure shelter in the weeks to come. For Legolas, it felt like abandonment, that he was fleeing from the peril and danger to just attend a council, even if it seemed to be an important one. 

Every day he patrolled in the forest immediately surrounding their underground dwellings, and every day he used his bow and arrows to try to complete the impossible task of killing all the fell creatures that now roamed closer and closer to the heart of his realm. The Elves they had once lost during the War of the Last Alliance would never be replaced, and he felt that Mirkwood needed all the warriors that could be summoned for its' protection… and survival. Deep inside him, he felt that the attack of his father's kingdom would not be the last one. The atmosphere was growing ever darker with each passing day.

The path he walked was covered by a thick carpet of moss, stifling even more his already quiet steps. His memory grew troubled again as he sighed, his previous meeting with Aragorn a short time ago now returning.

He had failed. His father had left Gollum under his guard, but the creature had managed to escape in the heat of the attack. If he had been more attentive… He felt he had failed Aragorn, who had confided the creature to them a year ago after several years of hunting him with Mithrandir. Only the Valar knew where Gollum was now…

It had not been a pleasant task to tell the event to Aragorn, and Legolas had done so upon his arrival at Imladris. Aragorn had not seemed upset, not even surprised. Only mildly annoyed. This reaction had triggered an uneasy feeling in Legolas' heart. It seemed that the Dunadan obviously had something much more important on his mind… 

Legolas knew that he would have to tell again the news of Gollum's escape at the council. That was not a task he was looking forward to.

The path lead to a small clearing surrounded by trees. Legolas was certain that many flowers must grow there in the spring, adding a charming multitude of color on the grass. He imagined the Elves of Imladris coming there for picnics, songs filling the air… He sighed. He didn't think he would see that time soon. 

He noticed that the path resumed on the other side of the clearing and decided to go on, curious as to where it might lead.

Truth be told, Legolas had thought that his father would not even send a representative to the council. Mirkwood Elves tended to keep more and more to themselves, even rarely journeying to Lórien as they once did. Then there was the unspoken shame of Oropher's refusal to recognise Gil-Galad's authority at Dagorlad, a decision that led to the death of many Mirkwood warriors. Since that, their contacts with their kin had been rather awkward.

And though his father did not suspect it, Legolas had witnessed many times Thranduil's bitterness at not being able to protect his kingdom as Galadriel and Elrond did so efficiently. Only the Elven kingdom of Mirkwood had been attacked, because he, King Thranduil, did not have the chance to possess a ring of power. Elrond had Vilya and Galadriel Nenya. Mirkwood only had caves that held a magic barely sufficient to hold the evil at bay. It was all that prevented the attack from spreading to the very heart of the kingdom. This time.

But Thranduil had nonetheless broken his usual reserve to send someone to attend Elrond's council.

Yes… the more he thought about it, the more Legolas was persuaded that the peril must be a threat to the whole of Middle-Earth. It was the only logical explanation if his father had decided to send someone to this council, and to send _him_ of all people.

He still wished he had stayed in Eryn Galen to defend his people but in the end, he had followed his father's wish, as usual. As usual…

Legolas was distracted from his thoughts by the faint sound of lapping water. Water… He accelerated his pace to come into an even smaller clearing than the previous one. The ground formed a hollow in the middle of it and there was a natural pool there, probably nurtured by one of the many underground sources that were there. His face broke into a smile. After a few long strides, he was crouching on the grassy bank, running his hand in the pure, clear liquid. What a pleasurable change from the dark waters in his realm! He could already feel the healing and soothing power of the water on his fingers, and he needed some of that power right now.

He stood and divested himself of his jerkin. Then came his silver tunic, his boots and his leggings.

He carefully folded his clothes, neatly placing them on the bank, his lithe and strong body white under the moon light. Even after a cloud had hidden the moon, his skin still retained a soft ethereal glow as he slowly entered the water. He let himself float on his back once he was in at waist height and he began to swim leisurely.

The water was like thousands of hands gently supporting his back, the feel of hundreds of delicate caresses on his skin. The water would have been very cold for a Man, but Legolas found it refreshing and enjoyable. He rolled on his stomach and dived, letting himself be engulfed by the sensations. He came up for air a long moment after, testing the resistance of his lungs at their maximum.

Calmed and focused, he walked back to the bank, the water dripping in rivulets on the hollows and curves of his body, glistening under the silver light of the moon. He twisted his long hair to remove most of the water from it, then sat on the grass to let himself dry a little.

After a short moment, he laid on his back, his eyes drawn to Eärendil, the brightest star in the sky. It was said that it was even more brighter here in Imladris, as it was the home of Eärendil's son, Elrond

When Legolas stood and slowly dressed himself, he could not have said if only minutes or hours had passed. And it was with the smallest regret that he started again towards the small path he had come from.

Tomorrow he would know why this council was so important. Tomorrow he would try to win back the trust of his kin in Mirkwood Elves. And maybe, maybe make his father proud of him…

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The end.


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